


who will fix me now

by typervoxilations



Series: keep walking, dear [2]
Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Continuation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3135194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typervoxilations/pseuds/typervoxilations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has moments of clarity sometimes, kind of, when he remembers bits and pieces of a life (?) he might have had, might have lived (?), but there are too many blank spaces in his head, fuzzy details like he's trying to recall a dream tinged in bright neon and sharp violet and he thinks he can hear the echo of a musical piece that is simultaneously nothing and everything and nameless.</p><p>The world begins with him, but he doesn't remember why.</p><p>( <i>I don't forgive you, but I trust you?</i> )</p><p>The world ends with him, and he finds himself agreeing.</p><p>( <i>I trust you.</i> )</p><p>Trust your partner, but he's not quite sure what that means.</p><p>( <i>...who are you?</i> )</p><p>((or, alternate circumstances to 'the weight of the world's getting harder to hold up'. can be read together or as stand alones. not actually a pairing fic but Neku/Josh if you squint really hard))</p>
            </blockquote>





	who will fix me now

**Author's Note:**

> angst, angst, and more angst
> 
> happy new years everybody
> 
> inspired by the full "Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You" poem by Gaby Dunn.

* * *

 

_"_

_Well then, maybe somewhere in those infinite universes is one, or several, where I deserve you._

_._

_._

_._

_Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you._

_"_

\- **Gaby Dunn**

 

* * *

 

_There is a boy who waits by the statue of Hachiko, always waiting, always keeping an eye on the numbers on his phone. He tucks his headphones around his neck and scans the crowd for the familiar face of someone he once knew and fights the disappointment in his chest when he doesn't see them._

_Shibuya is mute, silent, stripped of her song._

 

* * *

 

"You've stopped going to Hachiko." 

 

Neku pauses mid-bite as Shiki speaks up, quietly perceptive like she always was. He hears Beat and Eri bantering in the background while Rhyme refereed.

 

( he swallows but his throat is suddenly dry and he can't pinpoint why, exactly )

 

"I always go to Hachiko." He replies instead. "You guys insist on meeting up there every time we're free." 

 

She gives him a pointed look like she thinks he might be an idiot.

 

( it's a strange look on her normally meek and shyly expressive face and for some reason he thinks she could pull it off if she had Eri's face )

 

"You know what I mean." 

 

( he thinks he should, but he really doesn't; does he? )

 

"...Uh, I guess?"

 

She doesn't look like she believes him.

 

( _he_ probably doesn't look like he believes him either )

 

( the next day they make their way to scramble crossing; he snorts at one of Eri's bad jokes and doesn't even give the statue a second glance )

 

* * *

 

( Shiki has Eri and Beat has Rhyme and he - )

 

It's strange how it escapes him how they met. The thought is sudden and fleeting, like the brief glare of reflected sunlight off a shiny surface, temporarily blinding, leaving sunspots in your eyes for a few seconds. Neku frowns at his ramen as it suddenly occurs to him that he doesn't remember how they ended up friends. He's never really thought about it before ( has he? it feels like he has, but he's not really sure ). Somehow. He glances over at them; Shiki encouraging Eri to try her mystic ramen and Rhyme thumping Beat hard on the back because a noodle went down the wrong passage - wonders how on  _earth_ did such an unorthodox group get together?

 

( who did _he_ have? )

 

The train of thought is lost in an instant and he's leaning back over the counter to order another helping of  _shoyu_ ramen. 

 

( what was he thinking about again? )

 

* * *

 

He sees things sometimes and for the life of him he can't understand why his palms will suddenly get sweaty, fingers flexing, curling and uncurling in the pockets of his trousers like they were trying to grasp the comfort of something that could protect him, something that wasn't there. 

 

His hands close around nothing and he chalks it all up to his vivid imagination.

 

( animals couldn't just be  _roaming_ around Shibuya like that; certainly not animals of those colors, appendages replaced by the jagged two-dimensional appearance of wall graffiti, like something out of a CAT mural come to life )

 

For a few days after- ( after? something. what was it? ) waking up in the middle of scramble crossing and wondering how the hell he managed to nod off while crossing the street, people stared at him or tried to talk to him; or, well, a handful of them anyways, but he just gave them strange looks and walked off because - well, first of all _weird_ , and second of all,  _what_?

 

( he does it to the guy with the weird hairstyle and even weirder colored lollipop and his banshee pink-haired lady friend and the guy in front of the giant trash heap in Molco screaming strange mathematical terminology and calling him a yoctogram - because what the hell was that even? )

 

( it seems to bother them that he looked straight at them for some reason, some people were just so _touchy_  )

 

( though he swore it was only because it looked like there had been hazy black shapes cutting the air behind them )

 

* * *

 

Once, he was stupid enough to play a betting game with Eri and Beat ( which he lost spectacularly, who knew he could suck so bad at Tin Pin? ), and he tucks himself into the red phone booth at Molco with a resigned air. He was struggling with not knowing who to call without dying of shame, when he suddenly finds the receiver in hand and a number he doesn't even recall ever knowing half punched in already.

 

He doesn't know what he's expecting when the last button gives underneath his finger, but his ears are burning because what if someone actually picked up?

 

His embarrassment turns into a strange, strangling sort of disappointment instead and he's not quite sure how to feel about it.

 

( _'Sorry, the number you have reached is not in service.'_ )

 

"Who did you call?" Eri pressed later.

 

"...I don't know." He admits.

 

( they have a laugh about it later, and he forgets why he was upset )

 

* * *

 

Eri loved to drag anyone along to go shopping whenever Shiki was still stuck in class; today, her victim just happened to be Neku. Her grip was iron around his wrist and he resigned himself to being taken all over Shibuya as if they were being chased by (  ~~ _colorful vicious graffit animals, sharp claws and sharper edges, high pitched and vibrating and thrumming with negative_~~ _ ~~energy~~  _) the hounds of hell. 

 

They end up in Cat Street last, and Eri had persuaded him to buy something from J of the M ( not that he needed much persuading, J of the M was one of the few places he liked shopping at ) and he was exhausted.

 

"Man, what I'd give for a drink right now - hey, a coffee shop!" His female companion exclaimed, bouncing over to the sign that read 'WildKat' while Neku struggled to follow with all the bags she had pushed on him. 

 

"The coffee here sucks." He finds himself saying. "Let's go somewhere else." 

 

( but how does he know that? he doesn't even recognize the place )

 

Eri scrunches her nose at him. "...If you say so."

 

And she was already moving on, leaving him to wonder why he felt disappointed that they didn't get to stop here; much more disappointed than just missing the chance to give his back a break; much more disappointed than he had the right to be when he spoke against it in the first place.

 

( he finds himself passing by again a couple weeks later and sees a middle-aged man behind the counter and spares a brief thought to wonder why he was wearing sunglasses indoors, before the moment passed and he hurried along )

 

* * *

 

He has moments of clarity sometimes, kind of, when he remembers bits and pieces of a life (?) he might have had, might have lived (?), but there are too many blank spaces in his head, fuzzy details like he's trying to recall a dream tinged in bright neon and sharp violet and he thinks he can hear the echo of a musical piece that is simultaneously nothing and everything and nameless.

 

The world begins with him, but he doesn't remember why.

 

( his dreams are of graffiti murals and gunshots and nothing makes any sense; _I don't forgive you, but I trust you?_ ) 

 

The world ends with him, and he finds himself agreeing.

 

( the world _did_ end with him, his world, twice; Neku makes a face of confusion in the emptiness of his own room because he can't understand his own thoughts; _I trust you._  )

 

Trust your partner, but he's not quite sure what that means.

 

( _...who are you?_ )

 

* * *

 

_There is no longer a boy who waits by the statue of Hachiko, because he forgot why he was waiting in the first place. He sees familiar faces in the passing crowd, two girls with their arms hooked together and a boy with his little sister, and he smiles, waves, wades through the people to get to them. One of the girls cracks a joke and he finds himself laughing. The other offers a destination for lunch, and is met with general consensus._

 

_The group of five make their way towards Spain Hill, and their chatter is lost in the sea of the noise of a midday crowd._

 

_The boy, on a whim, glances up at the 104, squints at the light reflected off the top windows and wonders why the sun was so bright today, before looking away._

 

_From the crest of the roof, a Composer and his Producer watch in silence._

 

_"It's their world. They get to decide what to do with it."_

 

_The Producer pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than anyone._

 

_The wispy white form of the Composer gives him a look out of the corner of his eye, like he knew what the other was trying to do, but said nothing, returning his attention to the content on his former proxy's face. "Everybody makes sacrifices." He murmurs, and Shibuya seemed to sigh sadly, the music twisting into a hollow melody, as he turns away. "It's better this way." He sounds less convincing than the Producer, but he forces himself to take the steps away from the edge and away from where the glittering music of the Shibuya he had always wanted seemed to crowd around the boy with bright hair and and even brighter smile. He takes to the sky and feels his Producer follow shortly._

 

_Shibuya continued to move on, and forgot to realize it had lost its voice._


End file.
